


Sovereign and Servant

by orphan_account



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:52:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2037900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Feanorians learn of Maedhros's capture by Morgoth</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sovereign and Servant

“You are three different kinds of idiot, you realize? Curvo, Ambarussa and I could have handled this just as well.” Carnistir hissed in his ear.

A knife stabbed up through Makalaurë’s side again as he turned in his seat. Red flashed before his eyes, blinding him. _Ai, Eru, ai, Eru, ai…._ Head swimming, he forced himself to take in a sharp breath as his flesh constricted against his body. _Breathe now, breathe, Kano._ He would not cry out. He would not scream.

The poppy tea Leptafinyë had given him earlier could not start working fast enough.

An eternity passed as the pain faded. Makalaurë found himself crouched over, staring up into his younger brother’s eyes. Carnistir’s hand shot out, grabbing Makalaurë by the shoulder. His brows drew together, lips pressed into a thin line.

“See?” he said, “This is exactly what I mean.”

Meanwhile behind him, Makalaurë could hear Curvo shifting, felt the air change as he leaned over. “Take him back, Moryo. He is in a worse state than Tyelco, and as you say, we can take care of this just as well on our-”

“Enough. The both of you.” Makalaurë shook off his brother’s hold, glaring back up at the two of them. He grimaced at the way his voice scratched against his throat. He sounded too weak. That would need to change quickly. “Shall we send back word to the Enemy how weak the Noldor are? How their leaders are wounded and on their deathbeds?”

Slowly, shakily, Makalaurë managed to push himself back upright, chin raised, shoulder’s set.

To his right, Carnistir snorted. “Yes, of course, it is all about appearances to you, yes? All about your little performance! How good you will be to us if you _die!”_

Makalaurë glowered, and opened his mouth to retort back, when Curvo spoke once more.

“He is right, Makalaurë.”

Snapping his head around- ignoring how it made his head spin under the effects of the poppy- Makalaurë turned to shoot his brother the same look he’d been directing at Carnistir. Curvo did not shrink before him however, instead keeping that same cool, unimpressed assurance that he was correct. “Let me ask you, what image would you rather project?” Curvo asked, “That the Noldor are led by a nér weakened by his war wounds? His mind too poppy-addled to make the right choices when the time comes? Or would you rather have it appear that Morringotto and his minions are of that little importance to us? That our High King-”

_“Prince Regent_ ,” Makalaurë snapped, “We still do not know what fate has befallen Maitimo and until he is found, I will _not_ claim the title rightfully belonging to-”

“Yes, yes.” Curvo was giving him a look nearing pitty, “My point still remains.”

Makalaurë pressed his lips together, his gaze drawing inward. He had little time to consider his brother’s words, however. The door at the far end of the chamber swung open. The torches flickered, the shadows writhing against the half completed stone walls of the council chamber. Ambarussa strode in, his cloak darkened and his hair sticking to his face with the rain.

“Nehton and Roqueno are coming with the prisoner.” Ambarussa said, flinging his cloak over the back of his seat and sitting down in the semi-circle of chairs lined up at the far end of the room. Their own personal Ring of Doom, Makalaurë had once described it with an ironic twist to his lips. Ambarussa cast a glance over towards Makalaurë for a moment, but the elder elf waved him off.

“How fares Tyelco?” Curvo asked

Ambarussa shook his head. “Well enough. He was demanding to be let out of bed earlier. Saying that if Kano was well enough, he certainly was. Leptafinyë would hear none of it.” The briefest of smirks touched his lips, but then he sighed, raking his fingers through his hair.

Carnistir was shooting Makalaurë a pointed look. He ignored it.

“I have responsibilities to attend to.” Makalaurë insisted, “I want Tyelcormo to concern himself with recovering above all, right now.”

Ambarussa grunted. Carnistir was still staring at him. Stubborn bastard, wasn’t he?

The door swung open again, and all four elves’ gaze fell on the two guardsmen tromping in, frogmarching their prisoner before them. The beast had spent three days locked in the most fortified part of their camp, waiting for Makalaurë to regain consciousness, and it looked it. A long tangled mop of greasy black hair hung in front of it’s twisted, wrinkled face. It had a snout, something like a hound’s, and it’s body was covered with matted, gore covered fur. It’s ears poked up out from under it’s hair, near as leathery as the wings on it’s back. It was a vampire. A messenger of Morgoth’s.

Two eyes, like pinpricks of fire, focused themselves on Makalaurë. The vampire smirked.

“Hail, oh King of the Noldor! What luck to find you up on your feet! I had heard you found yourself on the wrong end of an orcish blade, searching for your brother.”

“Watch your tongue…” the growl came from Makalaurë’s right. Carnistir’s hands tightened around the arm rests of his chair, his knuckles were turning white.

“ _Carnistir_.” Makalaurë rolled his eyes towards his brother, giving him a hard look. “Calm yourself.”

Shaking his head, Makalaurë turned his gaze back to the Vampire, schooling his face into a impassive mask. “You are here as a messenger. Say your piece.”

_Let us hear what mocking words Moringotto has for us. The sooner this is done, the sooner we can be rid of you._

“Oh, but of course…” The creature struggled in the guard’s grip, pulling itself to a prouder height. “My lord Melkor sends you his greetings, and wishes you to know what a fine guest your brother has been to us-”

“What?!” the cry came from Ambarussa, the youngest of the brothers was leaning forward in his seat, almost as if fighting himself not to leap up. Carnistir growled again. Even Curvo was gritting his teeth, his muscles suddenly going rigid.

Makalaurë felt his own body tense. He narrowed his eyes at the Vampire as it laughed.

“Oh, I seem to have struck a nerve, haven’t I?” the creature cooed.

“ _Speak plainly._ What are you saying about our brother?”

“Your dear, dear Maitimo has become our guest, and will remain as such until you forsake this war of yours. Return back to whence you came, else depart from this land. Leave my Lord to rule this place in peace, as is his right.”

This time, Ambarussa _was_ on his feet, and Carnistir as well.

“ _You bloody Bastard!”_

_“Carnistir!”_ Makalaurë barked. “Be seated, and be _silent!”_ His gaze never left the Vampire.

“Did you not hear-?!’

“I heard perfectly well.” Makalaurë was pushing himself to his feet now, making his way forwards, towards the Vampire. “Curvo, restrain Carnistir.”

The guardsmen eyed their prince warily as Makalaurë stood next to them, his eyes still only for Morgoth’s beast. There was actual ice in his gaze.

“Your master has no right to these lands.” Makalaurë said.

“This is your answer?” the Vampire replied, cocking it’s head to the side.

“No.” Makalaurë drew his sword, and shot the guards a look. The command in his gaze was clear. Within moments, the vampire was forced to it’s knees.“When you return to your Master,tell him that _this_ was my answer.”

And with those words he brought his blade down through hard bone and soft flesh, beheading the beast. He dropped the sword with a clash, and Makalaurë strode, silently, out of the room.

* * *

 

He was not made for this. He was not Maitimo. He was not Atar.

  
Their banners snapped in the wind outside, through the windows Makalaurë could see their family’s star glowing white in the torches lit to combat the dark of the day. The rain poured outside, pounding against the roof of their makeshift hall.

  
Morgoth could go rot in the darkest pit of his own _hell!_

  
Forsake their War! Return West! Turn their backs on all they had already done? Have those ill deeds be done in _vain?_ And _for what?_ False words and false hope? For all they knew, the bastard had killed their brother, as he had already done their father and grandfather before him.

  
He let a long, slow breath out through his nose. _Calm, Makalaurë. You must keep a clear head about you…_ So easy to think, less so to do when Eru only knew what the Black Foe was doing to his brother…Ai, his mind was a muddled mess! He just wanted to sleep this away. Of course Leptafinyë’s poppy would begin working _now._

  
He pushed open the door to their fathe- No. Not Atar’s.- to what _used to be_ their father’s private study, letting it slam behind him. The room was empty now. Had been for some time. Maglor stood there, shoulders tight, fists clenched, as he tried to force himself to calm down.

  
It was the knock at the door that brought him out of his own swirling emotions. His head shot around, gaze locking on the door behind him .He had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping.

  
"Enter." he finally managed.

It was Carnistir and Curvo who pushed their way into the room.

_“What were you_ _ **thinking?”**_ The words- surprisingly- did not come from Carnistir’s mouth, but rather, Curvo’s

Makalaurë stared back at him for a moment, before just shaking his head. Brushing past his brothers, he moved towards the desk at the center of the room and dropped himself down behind it. “And what would you have wanted me to have done? It was an emissary of _Moringotto’s_ -”

“And yet still an emissary!” Curvo snapped, “There are matters here- Kano, I love Moringotto no more than you, but you have allowed him to see weakness in you. Have showed him how to get to you-”

“In case you haven’t quite noticed, Morringotto already has the trigger for that little outburst in his hands!” Makalaurë groaned, burying his head in his hands as he leaned against the desk.

Without looking up, he could hear his brother’s come forward, taking to either side of him.

“Yes…he does…”

Makalaurë could hear the unspoken question hidden within Curvo’s words.

Moments later Carnistir said it: “What are we going to do about it?”

At first, Makalaurë remained silent. He didn’t know how long he sat there, just thinking, when the door opened again. Peering up over his hands, he saw Ambarussa dragging in Tyelcormo.

Makalaurë pushed himself back up to his feet. “What is he-”

“I thought he should be here for this.” Ambarussa said.

“For what?” Makalaurë turned to Curvo and Carnistir, moving out of the way as Ambarussa helped Tyelcormo back down into the chair Makalaurë had previously occupied. “What did you tell them?”

“That we’re going to make our plans for saving Maitimo.” Despite his injuries, Tyelcormo was stubbornly forcing himself to sit upright. He took in a shaking breath, “Well? What are we going to do?”

“We’re staying here.” Makalaurë said.

Tyelco gave a sharp bark of laughter, “You cannot be serious, Makalaurë! After we went out and nearly killed ourselves trying to find-”

“I am.” Makalaurë’s gaze was hard, and took in each an every one of his brothers, “We are staying here. We are fortifying our camp.”

_“Makalaurë!”_ Both Carnistir and Ambarussa began their arguments shouting to be heard over one another.

“You cannot just leave him to die in the middle of Angband-” Ambarussa began, finally managing to cut above his brother’s words.

Makalaurë held up a hand to cut him off. “For all we know he is already dead.”

Carnistir snorted, “Bloody bastard is too noble to die on us. We cannot just leave him. We have a duty to-”

“ _I_ have a duty to protect my people!” Makalaurë glowered at Carnistir, though the words tasted bitter, even on his own tongue, “We cannot risk more lives, going on a fools mission to rescue Maitimo. Am I understood?”

He glanced around at all of them. They said nothing.

Well, except for Curvo. “I am actually inclined to agree with you, brother. We…need to built our force here first. Prepare for war. You make the choice of a true King.”

Makalaurë turned to Curvo, feeling his stomach twist. He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“Thank you, Curvo.” He murmured.

With a sigh, he pushed through the crowd of his brothers again, shaking his head, and he stalked off. “Ambarussa, “ He called over his shoulder, “Take Tyelco back to his bed. Carnistir, Curvo, do you two not have anything you are supposed to be attending to as well?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but behind him he could hear his brothers as they got moving.

Makalaurë was sure he could feel Carnistir and Tyelco’s glares boring holes in the back of his skull. He didn’t care. All he wanted right then was to be alone. Huh. True King indeed.


End file.
